Love Me Tomorrow
by LadyKryptonite
Summary: Listen, I swear we make sense. Sasu/Saku


September 9 2012

What makes a person in love? And don't tell me it's when you think of them all the time, when you go out of your way to do good by them, to wish to be with them all the time. Because I know that's not what it is.

How complicated can one emotion get, because what I am feeling is a mess but it can't be anything else but love. Then again they say the line between love and _it _is thin. Can you love someone who's lost their mind and still be sane? Please tell me I'm not like him; just ignore those voices that are screaming in my head, everyone has those, really.

Tell me, where is the line drawn between _hate_ and love? I can't be that different, so far off. Everyone hates him yet I call it love, but I swear I am not that distanced from rationality, or what everyone calls logic simply because it is the majority.

_Listen._

He said he'd love me, but I always loved the way he spun his treachery and those words made my heart ache with joy. In that glorious glow of the promise I knew, but he is poison and always will be; perhaps that makes me a masochist. Either way, I cannot change it.

We started so bright, but the schemes of children always turn wicked. I was asleep and he kissed life into me, but I was no Sleepy Beauty, he no Prince Charming, and ours was never a fairy tale. Ours was never a happy ending, but I had to wonder if I was simply content with that, the cruel irony be damned.

Why was it that though his cruelty knew no bounds, it was his rare kindness that left me in awe? Tell me, _help me, _because I can't be anything but sick. I last saw him six months ago, and the supremacy of the moment still makes my knees weak. His aura, all that makes him, pushes me to lay stretched among the grass for the aching glory of it all, because it was so frighteningly easy to fall and I simply couldn't stand again.

They say destiny is written in stone, and if so only the Devil would be so vicious as to carve ours. I would laugh at him, because he wrote in in spite, envious of our mortality. We were doomed and it was made beautiful in its destruction, while he was left for an eternity of pastels. It has to be so

Is a laugh without a smile true? Last night I dreamed of him again and woke up screaming, with a smile- was that false as well? I don't know what's true anymore.

I asked him one night, far out in the desert if he ever got lonely. He told me it was lonely among people, and I said no more because I knew it to be true? Again, questions like these plague my conscious, and these days all I have is time.

He screams at me things I never thought of, in his hoarse whispery voice, always accusing, always soothing. Why value life when we are taught to kill, why live and think it won't be us next? Why is it that we mourn suffering yet are the cause?

Ours is a love story without love, only something in between, a new flavour yet a million times more powerful. It is selfless, yet more so selfish. It builds yet mostly tears down; it's grounded yet we are both falling, down, down, down. Tell me when we hit the bottom because I'm tired and need to sleep.

His grin was manic and malevolent when he snarled at me, asking what humanity was really capable of, d_arling_. But the will the live forever outweighs the ability to die, and he only became more angered, a young man's heart so twisted that I mourn the loss of what could have been.

And I can do nothing but look, and look and look and look, because I cannot help him yet I cannot leave him so what else can I do but stand and watch him burn.

No one falls in love in the desert; she is a cruel maiden who has no warmth in her even when her sun burns our skins. I am a good girl who was in love with bad things.

He can't be a bad guy if he is in love with the good girl too, but nobody understands. He tells me one night how scared he was because he woke and couldn't remember the exact shade of green my eyes are. When I closed them we kissed and I can't quite remember what it felt like.

There were twelve candles on my birthday cake when he left, and I miss the little things. The images I had tucked away for the days when I needed to be reminded that the world was still beautiful. Remember when he laughed, I think I miss those days, but I am not quite sure.

_Listen._

I love him.

He promised that he would love me tomorrow, so I wait for the dawn, because these last eight years he's been awfully busy. I am so foolish.

_Answer me/_

* * *

__In all honesty, I didn't know where I was going with this when I started, but I am happy enough with the way it turned out. I usually like to write Sakura a strong, giving Sasuke a big f-you and casting Hinata with the sadder roles, but this one I figured fit. Most grammatical errors are purposeful, though it is possible some aren't.  
Thanks for reading!

-Lady Kryptonite


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